


Realistic Shane Erotica

by KidAbsurdity



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Eros - Freeform, F/M, Hot action, M/M, Mishaps, Mistaken Identity, Realism, Romance, Second Person Narration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7892332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidAbsurdity/pseuds/KidAbsurdity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You, the farmer, have resolved to jump aboard the Shane Train in a most erotic fashion. Realistic outcomes ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight is the night that you are resolved to kick your relationship with Shane up a whole heap of notches, a number of which ranging from one to several might be on your bedpost specifically. You’ve been listening to his depressive ramblings and feeding his self-destructive addiction to the point that he’s begun to tolerate you, and while you were originally looking to take it a bit slower, your hand has been forced due to external factors beyond your control, though not his.

As you were leaving the saloon earlier, you were interrupted by a slightly embarrassed-looking Leah, who, for all her politeness, has rarely gone out of her way to speak to you.

“I’m a bit worried about you,” she says, though you can’t imagine why she would be until she finishes her sentence, “I don’t think you’ll get what you expect with Shane – be careful that he doesn’t abuse you as much as his liver.” You reflect on that for a few seconds before reaching the completely logical conclusion that she is after your man, that hussy, and that you had better accelerate your anticipated timeframe for horizontal tangoing – not that Leah is a threat compared to you with her artsy crap and hyper-feminine wine drinking and whining about her extensive experience of abusive relationships that she is clearly using as a pretext to muscle in on your stubbly uniformed Adonis. You have always had a thing for uniforms, and while the Joja Mart one isn’t as sexy on its own as military dress wear or firefighting gear, it does look considerably better than the city police now that their union has opted for pressure tactics in their latest round of salary negotiations. They’re wearing off-colour camouflage pants that make them look like clowns rather than officers of the law. You stop thinking about how you are wasting your taxpayer dollars since Pelican Town doesn’t even have police and you snap your mind back onto the topic at hand, Shane in his Joja Mart uniform. Ooh baby. You feel a twinge in your loins.

“Tomorrow,” you think to yourself, you will bring your preparations to a close and make the move. You stay awake a bit later than you would have hoped fantasizing about both of you and that which is to come.

The next day, you rush through your farm chores so that you have enough time to catch a bus to one of the nearby towns to get a haircut before intercepting Shane at the saloon, where he’ll drink the evening away giving the whole town that endearingly charming scowl and telling everyone to piss off and leave him alone. You, however, know better, you know that he’s just lonely and depressed, and that you are his way out of both. Sure, fulfilling work and a sense of purpose would help him too, but you’re nothing if not realistic about what you’ve got to offer at the moment. You’d put him in charge of the farm’s brewing operations if you didn’t think he’d drink into the profits too much, and you’re a savvy businessperson, so sleeping with him will just have to do.

A bus delay interferes with your schedule, and you make it to the saloon later than you had anticipated, around 9 PM. Leah glances at you from her corner where she’s eating her salad and drinking a glass of wine. You smile broadly at her as you make your way over to the bar where Shane is seated on his usual stool, still in his Joja Mart uniform. You take the seat next to him and your heart melts as he tells you to go away, with that scowl that sets your heart aflutter. You tell Emily, the bartender, that Shane is drinking on you tonight.

Emily looks concerned about the idea but doesn’t say anything. “That harlot,” you think to yourself, “she’s cleverer about hiding it than Leah.” You will not let Shane out of your sight tonight, the whole town is plotting against you and your pure-minded love. You also give some thought to him drinking some of the latest batch of your farm’s pale ale _off_ you later. You make a mental note to adjust some of the balance sheets and forge a receipt to accommodate that as a business expense so you don’t have to pay Lewis the tax on the beer. This whole thing with getting Shane into your bed has been so taxing that your mind keeps coming back to taxes. You make a note to stop that as much as you can, there are fewer buzzkills in the sack than the inevitability of paying the man, man.

Eventually, as the night drags on and you pay out thousands of gangstadollahs on beer for Shane, while making minimal small talk that has, in your mind, made you his best friend in the town, valley, world and universe, you decide it’s time for you both to go and put the final phase of your plan into action. The whole assembled crowd in the saloon, except Pam, who doesn’t give a shit about anything, bless her, looks concerned as you and Shane drunkenly sway your way toward the door. You realize the extent of the town’s conspiracy against you and their ultimate cowardice in the face of you asserting yourself and chasing the object of your affections.

You walk Shane back toward the farmhouse along the northern road near the bus stop, him leaning into you in a way you interpret to be suggestive. You’ve installed some new street lamps leading into your property to illuminate the path so neither of you falls over. Shane looks at the farmhouse with an expression of abject horror on his face, as he mistakes the well-lit farmhouse for the Joja Mart.

“I don’t want to go back to work,” he says, looking at you with the same horrified expression. “We’re closed, Morris, I need to sleep.”

Before you can explain, Shane has punched you in the face, staggering you to one knee, before passing out himself. As you kneel there, you mutter to yourself, “if only I try harder…”


	2. More Realistic Shane Erotica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You, the farmer, are undeterred after your past mishap jumping all aboard the Shane Train, and you launch your next plan to get all erotic.

You’ve given it a couple of days. Your dignity is as bruised as the black eye Shane gave you, but that was an unfortunate accident. It could happen to anyone. Absolutely anyone. It could have happened yesterday to any of those tramps and trollops that are after your man. You really hope it didn’t, until it occurs to you that they might have succeeded. Then you really hope it did, until it occurs to you that they would have been trying to get into Shane’s dreamy cargo shorts. You panic for a while as the confusion takes hold. This, you tell yourself, is love – being truly, madly, deeply up to your farmer’s cap in it.

You’ve got no idea what, if anything, the town has come to hear about that escapade, but you don’t care. If you have to suffer a temporary lack of dignity, that’s fine. You’ll be the one laughing when you’ve got the hottest piece of ass in Pelican Town in your bed. Or his. Or across a table. Or under a tree. The furniture or lack thereof isn’t important, damnit. Turning that scowl into that sneering smile that makes you heart melt, then into an o-face, then back to that sneering smile, that’s what’s important, damnit.

But you’ve not let your time in recovery and isolation on the farm come to naught – nay, nay! You have formulated a new, better plan than your previous one, which you have dubbed: “Operation: Do The Same Thing Except Get Shane Slightly Less Drunk This Time.” You’d have come up with a better name, but around the time you got to “Shane” you got distracted and forgot how much the name of the operation sucked. You also came up with a Plan B, “Operation: Guilt Shane about Mistaking You For Morris and Punching You in the Face”, but you hope it isn’t going to come to that. You don’t want him thinking about anything but you, and not punching you in the face in particular – more even, you want him to be his usual self.

You’ve only got one farm chore left for the day, tending to the chickens and the rooster, which brings to mind Shane’s… pretty much what you expect. After that distracts you enough to break two eggs, you smile. You can’t make a romantic omelet that is a metaphor for life in general without breaking a few eggs in a romantic stupor thinking about your object of your affection. The Queen of Sauce might disagree, but screw her, she’s probably just after Shane, that slag.

It’s off to the saloon, and this time the atmosphere is different as you push open the doors and stride in, your still-swollen eye drawing the attention of the townsfolk as you march straight over to the bar and plunk yourself down next to Shane, who’s already got a couple of empty mugs in front of him. You hope he’s as thirsty for you as he is for beer as he is for numbing his senses to the encroaching nihilistic void.

He sneers at you as you sit down. Your inner monologue swoons as you buy two mugs of beer. Emily, that skank, looks at you strangely when you slide one over in front of Shane. Why can’t she be as unhealthily in love with Clint as he is with her instead of coming between you and your healthy adoration? And when he turns to talk to you, your outer monologue almost does too before you can reply to him:

“Do you know why I woke up on your farm with a splitting headache and no memory of the night a couple of mornings ago?” he asked.

“You were walking me home like a gentleman, but I guess you didn’t make it back yourself,” you tell him. “Next time you can just stay over.”

Shane says nothing and sips his beer. Never has being mostly ignored gotten you this hot and bothered. You drink together for a while and start on the way home, him walking you home again. You feign greater drunkenness and stumble across him, some stray brushing of erogenous zones ensuing to hint that you mean sexy, sexual business, that business being sex.

You usher Shane into the farmhouse, slam the door shut and him up against it, and suddenly, you’re sloppily making out, the taste of hops and a touch of pre-vomit bile lighting up your wandering tongues. You pull him across the foyer and into the bedroom, where the clothes come off. You keep at it a while.

“I’m too drunk to get it up,” he says. You keep trying. He’s right. He feels terrible about that and starts verbally beating up on himself, too stunned to even look at you before he falls asleep. At first, it aroused you even more but he was too stunned and drunk to do anything with that fact.

But if you only try harder, you’re sure you can make this work.


	3. The Most Realistic Shane Erotica Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While considering how to erotically entangle yourself with Shane, you run into him on the dock and have a sincere heart-to-heart about his life.

A couple of nights later, you decide to go for a walk down to the forest lake to spend some time thinking about your next approach to sleeping with Shane, in the carnal sense, but lo and behold, your fortune is clearly better than Welwick, the Oracle, would have had you believe from the morning horoscope as there is Shane sitting at the end of the dock, case of beer beside him. That jezebel, you think, trying to dissuade you from making the moves on Shane so she can steal him from you. She won’t see your success coming, multiple times in the session you hope.

“Buh. Life.” He says. “You ever feel like no matter what you’re gonna do, you’re gonna fail? Like you’re so deep in a miserable abyss that you can’t even see the light of day?”

You smile widely, because you know you have, and you have some real-talk truth to lay down on him before you lay down on him. “ _ Yes, Shane, whenever I am away from you, my life, my love. _ ”

“Um, what?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say, winking at him. It is the fastest you’ve seen him chug his beer. You nearly swoon right off the dock.

“Well, my liver’s begging me to get to sleep. Have a good night.”

“ _ I already haaaaave.” _


	4. First Thing's First, I'm The Realest Shane Erotica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You, the farmer, continue your erotic quest for Shane, with a new, non-beer-related approach. Realistic outcomes, as ever, ensue.

Though stymied again, you have made clear progress in the rather heated makeout session with Shane, though that has only got you wanting to do more, more, more with and/or to him. You are nothing if not patient, as your eventual revenge against all those who would come between you and your beloved will attest in their blood. But you have bigger things on your mind, or at least you imagine it to be big, after the previous escapade it’s impossible to be sure. But it’s not the size of the penis, it’s the size of the loathing for self and others that counts.

You’ve given it some more thought, and you’ve concluded that you’ll have more success at this whole sexing Shane business if you start on the whole process while he’s sober.  And so it’s time to bring out your tour-de-force plan, and all of the information you’ve legitimately acquired about his tastes through sources such as his window. You’re going to cook his favorite, the quintessential gridball food, pepper poppers, order in his other favorite, pizza, and then invite him over to watch the gridball and also bang, though you’re not sure whether you’ll mention the banging part out loud even though it’s pretty evident that all you’re interested in is banging him. It’s the perfect plan, because gridball is so staggeringly boring with its stop-and-start play-flow that sex is pretty much guaranteed.

The preparations complete, you zip over to the Joja Mart to ensure that you intercept him before he goes to the saloon. Sure, the saloon is where you first fell for him when he told you to go die in a fire, and it’ll always hold a certain sentimental appeal for all the memories of the times you’ve spent together, you paying attention to him and him paying attention to his beer, and you feigning interest in his beer and him feigning interest in you. Good times. You arrived in Pelican Town wanting nothing to do with the Joja Corporation ever again, but if they could hire Shane they really couldn’t be that bad, so you’ve forgiven them and are giving them the bulk of your business. Screw Pierre, giving birth to Abigail, who’s sneakily trying to steal Shane from you, and for taking Wednesday off, the twice-fold jerk.

You find Shane stocking shelves with Joja Brand Bread. His focus on his work is like his focus on beer, but less endearing to you. “Shane, come watch the gridball at mine tomorrow. Pizza and pepper poppers provided.”

Shane nods as his manager, Morris rounds the corner into the aisle a short time after. “Shane, I’m going to need you to work tomorrow afternoon.”

That utter strumpet - as if he doesn’t steal Shane away from you enough during his scheduled work hours… 

By the time the ambulance arrives it seems that Shane has secured the day off work.

The next afternoon, Shane arrives at your farmhouse a bit ahead of the gridball game. You’ve just finished preparing the hot pepper poppers during the pre-game show thinking about how it’s your pre-game show and that you hope Shane poppers off inside and/or all over you. 

You feed him a pepper popper and the blissful look on his face motivates you all the more for the afternoon ahead. You humour him as he tells you about his life until you suggestively hold a pepper popper between your teeth, and lean in for the kiss. That, you think, is hot.

Before you know it you’re making out again, and the clothes are coming off, and it’s clear that it’s not as big as you had imagined but that’s hardly stopping you until Shane cries out in pain from your ministrations. 

“Aah! It burns!”

It turns out your sexy plan was  _ hotter _ than you anticipated, and all because you didn’t wash your hands after preparing hot peppers. You get him a glass of milk to dunk it in and resign yourself to watching the gridball. But you’re sure that if you only pay attention to sanitary cooking practices, and try harder, you can make this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was considering something along these lines, and then a comment from Ren really brought home the point that that was a good idea. Thanks!


	5. The Realistic Shane Erotica Finale and Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have been pursuing Shane, and suddenly Shane is pursuing you.

A few days later, you wrap up your farm chores and give your pursuit of Shane a bit more thought, as you are running down your list of ideas for snatching him up, when you’re surprised by a knock at your door. It’s not often you receive visitors at the farm. And to your great surprise, it’s Shane. He’s looking sober and a bit embarrassed as he’s holding his hands behind his back. It discombobulates you a bit.

“Hey,” he greets you with surprising gentleness, in that there is any gentleness at all. “I brought you these,” he informs you, pulling a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, not a we’re into a relationship bouquet to your disappointment, but just a bouquet, which is sometimes, to your disappointment, just a bouquet. You are in a dizzied stupor. You never expected this.

“I never thought anyone would be interested in me like this,” he continues, “and it’s motivated me so much,”he states with a sincere smile without a sneer behind it.

You accept the flowers, still in a state of confusion. 

“I’m quitting drinking thanks to you,” he concludes, offering you a hug. You sink into his warm embrace, unsure what to think.

He holds you and kisses you like the gentleman you always imagined he could be, and maneuvers you gently toward your bed. Again, you’re exploring each other’s bodies, and it’s noticeably different this time in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on, and what bits of Shane you can put your finger on (his bits) fills you with a sense of apprehension rather than the thrill you had anticipated, even if it is erect without causing him immense capsaicin-related pain.

“I think I love you,” he whispers, and the realization hits you full-force. This is not the way you were attracted to him at all, and this was not the way you wanted to fix him, which was the purpose of your pursuit. You were attracted to depressed, apathetic, hostile Shane, with his sneering and ignoring you and telling you to go take your plowing puns elsewhere. This new Shane with his timidity, sincerity and caring, that shit is  _ just plain unattractive _ . 

Your erogenous zones start to shrivel from this revelation, you become tense, your spine stiffening like a board. 

“What happened to you?” you finally ask.

“You did,” he says, with adoration in his eyes. You feel sick. You start putting your clothes back on.

“Get out of my bed and get out of my house,” you tell him with dread seriousness. Though he looks confused and teary-eyed, he puts his clothes back on and does.

You have no idea where you went wrong, but you won’t be trying any harder. Screw happy Shane, in the derogatory sense rather than the erotic one. You are  _ done with him _ . But now what? Upon reflection, you realize that the perfect love interest has been right under your nose the whole time, and you missed it in your infatuation with Shane. The town’s blacksmith has no romantic confidence and has been starting to talk about his interest in ethics in videogame journalism a lot lately. He’ll treat you the way you want to be treated for sure.

THE END


End file.
